


I Should Have Known...

by quiet1



Category: Savage Garden
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet1/pseuds/quiet1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Savage Garden fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Should Have Known...

I should have known not to watch the Hard Rock Live rerun on VH1. It'd been bad enough living it. There was no need to torture myself with it again. No need except a previously undiscovered masochistic streak. I wondered if the fans could see the longing in my eyes whenever I looked at Dazza while we were performing. It was painfully obvious to me. I never knew what to make of Darren's flirting. It seemed like it was all a game to him, something to do when he was performing.

He's a lot quieter than you'd think off stage, out of the public eye. He never brushed up against me when we were alone, never grabbed for my hand or leaned against me unless he was caught up in the music. I had glorious memories of long hours spent at a piano, playing until my fingers ached, the pain tolerable because Darren was there, leaning over my shoulder, intent on the music, mumbling lyrics under his breath.

I watched us on the television, lying back on my lonely hotel bed, distracting myself from the sharp pain of seeing what wasn't real, what I couldn't have, by noting all of the mistakes, the places where we could do better. It didn't help, really. When the show was over and I turned off the television, turned off the lights, praying for sleep, I could hear the moan. That goddamned moan. I wondered if he really sounded like that when he came, if he really looked like that.

When I closed my eyes I could see him, feel him against me, around me, my flesh buried deep in him as he straddled my hips, riding my cock. I could feel the sweaty skin on his hips as I guided his movements, see the way his body would tense, muscles straining. My hand found my cock, rock hard from the mental pictures my mind was painting, and I began to stroke myself, spreading the precum over my length, imagining that the tight heat of my hand was Darren's body, thrusting in time to his moan echoing in my head. I moaned with him under my breath. As his voice peaked, I came, splatters of hot cum streaking my chest. For a moment I held onto the fantasy, imagining them as the result of Darren's climax as he rode me.

Then the dream slid away, and I was left with the lonely reality of my hand on my cock, my own cum cooling into a sticky mess on my chest, the object of my fantasies safe and none the wiser on the other side of the hotel wall. I grabbed a handful of tissues and savagely wiped myself clean, tossing them onto the floor before curling onto my side and clutching one of the pillows to me. I denied the tears that dampened the pillow beneath my cheek.

God, I loved him. I loved him and wanted him and soon I wouldn't be able to stand being around him. It hurt too much to see but not have. Why did it have to hurt so much?


End file.
